


Kitten

by Belle86



Series: "Girl" 'Verse [3]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Butt Plugs, Doggy Style, Dom/sub Play, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Kitty play, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Master/Pet, Oral Sex, Pet Play, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Roleplay, Sexual Roleplay, What Have I Done, Who am I, aaaaand:, kitten play, pun intended
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 15:15:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8629153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belle86/pseuds/Belle86
Summary: A cage, some kitten ears, and Herc Hansen's birthday.
"Meow."





	

Goddamn teleconferences with goddamn London. Always run on forever.

Herc checks his watch, hustles down the hallway toward the pilots quarters after extricating himself from the LOCCENT-adjacent conference room. Promised Tendo that drinks could be postponed until the weekend, over the other man’s protests that he’ll buy, it’s a special occasion.

It may be his birthday, and drinks out with the lads would be fun, but all he’s really looking forward to today is the private dinner that Mako promised him, _1900 hours, don’t be late_.

So at five minutes ‘till, he’s punching the combination into the keypad on the door to his quarters - their quarters, now - glad the day is over and excited for whatever Mako has planned for the evening.

“Mako?” He calls as he pushes the door in.

Nothing.

He waits a moment after he shuts the heavy metal door, undoes the buckles on his boots and leaves them in their usual place by the door. Still nothing. Maybe she’s picking something up and got delayed--

The fuck is that?

The room looks completely normal, no decorations, nothing out of the ordinary. Except for the large pet cage, in the open area beyond the couch, a few steps away from the double bed, a large black blanket draped over most of it.

The thing is really large, like it would house a Great Dane or a Bull Mastiff.

“Babe?” 

Still no answer.

He drops his jacket on the ratty couch near the entryway as he walks towards the cage. It’s completely still, no woofing or whimpering coming from inside. Maybe whatever’s inside is just sleeping. 

There’s an envelope on top, Herc picks it up as he approaches.

Crouching in front of the cage, he tries to peer in past the blanket, but all he sees is darkness. He pushes his fingers through the openings, making soft kissing sounds to coax out the pet inside. 

Max could use a friend, anyway.

The envelope isn’t addressed or labeled, or even sealed, but there’s a letter inside. He pulls it out, goes back to gently wiggling the fingers he has between the grate, then starts to read.

_Dearest Hercules,_

_Your birthday gift is waiting for you inside this crate.  Special and just for you._

He peers inside once again, with a low whistle and another wag of his fingers. Still nothing. He looks back to the letter.

_On your special day, you should have whatever you want.  Your gift is meant to serve and please you, however you wish to use her._

What in the fuck is in this--

Something wet and warm wraps itself around his middle finger. He looks down quickly, almost panicked, what kind of animal greets a human like that?

Lips. Plush, red lips wrapped around his finger, above them a pair of deep, rich brown eyes, open wide and looking up at him with a look that just barely qualifies as innocent.

Mako.

He can’t get his mind around it, but Mako is looking up at him from inside the cage, blinking slowly, licking and sucking at the fingers he has woven between the thin metal bars of the front of the cage.

It takes him a moment to shake himself out of the haze of confusion and disbelief and, if he’s being honest with himself, growing arousal. But he quickly scrambles to yank off the blanket and undo the gate, the latch only barely in place, standing and staring, transfixed as Mako slowly, carefully, gracefully crawls out on all fours, looking up at him. Nothing but mischief in those dark eyes.

She’s naked, totally starkers, the only decoration on her body a pair of black velvet cat ears and a black ribbon, not even an inch thick, tied around her neck, like a collar; bold but delicate, just like her. A small bell dangles from the bow at the front, tinkling lightly as she rubs her face and neck into the olive drab of his trousers.

When she pointedly looks toward the letter in his hand, he reluctantly tears his eyes from her and goes back to reading.

_Your Kitten is yours. She is trained to obey and to please. All of her holes have been prepared and readied for your pleasure._

As if on cue, on her hand and knees, Mako comes around in front of him, turns her back, and practically _presents_ herself, her back arched and her ass pushed up, her hips gently weaving back and forth.

Above her toned thighs and plump, glistening folds is a flat silver circle, nestled between those firm, round buttocks. A sleek silver plug, bearing two capital H’s, in elegant script, one set just below and to the right of the first, like a monogram.

Fuck.

It takes him a minute. A minute of the blood in his body rushing everywhere it doesn’t belong while flashes of the night’s possibilities swirl through his mind. 

Somewhere in there is a flash to a few weeks before, them laying in bed, debating whether or not they were going to dress up for the Shatterdome crew’s big Halloween shindig.

_“You’d be a cute cat,” he’d told her._

_She’d giggled. Giggled in that light, airy way she has about her for a good while after they fuck and propped herself up on his chest, her chin supported under her fists. “Cute? You think I’d be cute?”_

_“Mmmm, the cutest," he’d tucked one of those blue locks behind her ear, trailed his fingertips along her jaw, “my cute little kitten.”_

This is going to be fun.

He skims the letter once more, noting the second-to-last paragraph outlining their usual ‘Kodiak’ as a safeword, then sets the letter down on the carrier and leans down to run his fingers through her silken black hair. Pets her, really.

“So you’re my kitten?”

She makes a warm, almost purring sound and rubs her head into his palm. This fucking girl will be the death of him. What a way to go.

He pets her a bit more, then notices what is laid out on the small, beaten up dining table that they have jammed into the corner near the kitchenette, really just barely big enough for two people to eat dinner. 

A covered plate with a bottle of his favorite, good scotch next to it, the kind he never buys for himself, a ribbon tied around the neck that he’s almost positive is the same as the one around her neck.

Careful of the ribbon, Herc cracks open the scotch, pours out two fingers into the glass thoughtfully placed next to it. Takes the cover off of the plate. Underneath, wrapped in stark white butcher paper, is a steak. A finer cut than he’s seen since the Mark One Glory Days.

Just next to those, a basket. A basket with Mako’s black egg-shaped vibrator, a tube of slick, and his worn leather belt, coiled up perfectly. 

No wonder she was no help when he couldn’t find it this morning.

“Now, Kitten,” he hands her the vibrator, crouches down till he’s almost eye-level with her, “warm yourself up for me while I cook this fine piece of meat here, yeah?”

She takes it from him with an honest-to-god _‘meow’_ and slinks back into the cage, staying close to the entrance. Settles on her back on the plush cushion along the bottom and nestles the toy between those lean legs.

When it’s buzzing starts, he fixes her with a look he usually reserves for unruly cadets in the kwoon. “Don’t come until I tell you to.”

He doesn’t miss how she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, hard, like it will help her focus.

Two and a half minutes on each side.

Herc sips that good scotch and watches her edge herself, beef sizzling in the background. Watches her writhe and start to sweat, her hips jerking into the black silicone in her hand, her toes curled and her legs tense, whimpering as she denies herself, over and over again.

What a goddamned sight it is.

Once the steak is done cooking, he brings it back to the cramped dining table to let it rest, settling into one rickety chair. She’s perfectly close to his seat, and he brings one booted foot to the back of the hand she has holding the toy against her. Presses just enough. Doesn’t let her move it away.

She holds her breath as her eyes go wide. 

“Come for me, kitten.”

While the steak rests, she comes. Comes hard, her face tense but her jaw slack, those harsh, panting breaths that are as much as she’ll allow herself; the byproduct of half a lifetime of living in Shatterdomes made of echo-prone concrete and steel. 

He lives for those breaths. Lives for the hitch in them that means she’s fallen over the edge, the first long huff, pushed through her clenched teeth like a curse before those perfect plump lips fall open as she rides that wave.

When her head dips forward he knows she’s done. He lets her sweat and pant for a moment more before reaching down to pull her hand back, stops the vibrator and places it back in the basket.

He lets her rest while he cuts into the steak, listens to her catch her breath. He’s not normally one to slice his food into bite-sized pieces all at once, but something tells him he doesn’t want to have both hands occupied for too long.

The steak cut and her breathing closer to even, he drops one hand down, rubs his fingertips together. Makes a few kissing noises like he did before. 

“Hungry, Kitten?” He pats his thigh, makes more kissing noises to call her over.

Slowly, she rolls and pulls herself up onto her hands and knees. She moves towards him on all fours with actual feline grace, hips swaying, all creamy skin and lean, sinewy muscle. Deliberately, fluidly, like a fucking jungle cat. Looks up at him. Patient, expecting, that bell around her neck tinkling away.

He takes a bite of steak as she climbs up to perch herself on one of his spread legs, letting her toned legs dangle down, toes pointed, swinging slightly back and forth. He runs his free hand up the curve of her side, gropes her pert, round, perfect breasts. After all, it’s his birthday, and this is all his, right?

She squirms in his lap and there is most certainly going to be a damp patch on the thigh of his pants. Excellent.

Forgoing the fork, he picks up a piece of steak, holds it just close enough to her that she has to lean down the take the piece of meat from his fingers into her mouth. She looks up at him through those thick lashes as she does, sucking at his fingertips as she pulls back. Fuck, if that doesn’t go straight to his dick.

They finish the steak that way, Herc also taking bites of the mashed potatoes - perfectly buttery and garlicky, definitely not from the mess - goddamn, this girl.

Once they’re finished, he coaxes her down off his lap and she slides down to kneel between his legs, runs her hands up his thighs. It’s tempting, but he stands instead, pushing the chair back with his legs. He tops off his scotch and moves towards the beat-up couch in the main area of the quarters, walking slowly backwards so he can watch her follow him. That gorgeous ass of hers sways as she crawls.

He settles on the couch and pats the cushion next to him, sips his drink while she climbs up.

He swipes his thumb across her lower lip, undoes his trousers with his other hand. Grinds the heel of his palm against his dick to ease the pressure that’s begun to grow uncomfortable.

“Got a treat for you here, Kitten,” he strokes his cock, inviting her closer.

She creeps closer on the couch until she’s got both hands on his thigh, her head over his lap. Takes a few licks before sinking down, sucking him into that glorious wet heat. He drops his head back, settles a hand on the back of her head as she gets into a rhythm.

“No hands, Kitten.” It may be a touch cruel, but that goddamned bell made a lot more noise before she started using her hands.

While she bobs and licks, he runs his left hand over her lean, gorgeous body, sips his scotch with the other. 

Traces his fingertips over her spine, over the dimples in her lower back. Squeezes her firm arse, gives it a smack, then squeezes it again. Presses on the flat of the plug in her ass just a bit, just enough to make her moan around his cock while he watches her toes curl up tight. He pats that silver disk, gently at first, lightly tapping, then increasing the pressure until she’s loudly whimpering around his cock and her fingers are digging into his thigh. Momentarily he regrets leaving the vibrator by the cage, because pressing it against that plug would drive her fucking wild, and wouldn’t that be a delight?

But instead he gives the dusky tips of her nipples a couple solid twists and tugs, just the way she likes, just the way he likes to do to her.

The bell quiets. Then he feels it. She’s using her hands again.

“What did I say about the hands?”

She pulls of of him with a low _‘pop’_ , looks up at him, and hisses. Fucking _hisses_ at him.

Vaguely he recalls reading something once about how cats respond more to positive reinforcement than any type of punishment. That may be true for cats but one thing he knows for sure about Mako Mori is that she’ll do just about anything for his hand around her throat and a smack on her ass.

So a smack on the ass she gets.

“What did I say about the hands, Kitten?” He repeats.

She hisses again, her lips curled back, her head bobbing forward.

He holds her eyes for a moment. A stand off over how she’s going to suck his fucking dick.

He breaks it first, leans in bodily and throws both arms around her, one under her hips, the other behind her knees. She yelps in surprise and half-heartedly fights back, hissing and scratching at him as he stands, lifting her off the couch and hoisting her up in the crook of his arm.

She keeps the fight up as he crosses to the bed, hissing loudly each time he spanks her. Which he does, perhaps a couple times more than is entirely necessary, but no matter.

There are times when he second-guesses keeping up his pilot fitness regimen rather than scaling it back a bit to match his new civilian-esque lifestyle. Times when he thinks that that extra hour or so could be better spent lounging on the couch with his girl and his dog, or trying to squeeze another few grand out of the UN.

But then this happens: these times when he can haul Mako around with one arm, or pin her against the wall at shoulder height while he eats her out, these moments when she wants him to be so much stronger than her, in every way possible. And fuck if it isn’t worth it.

He drops her on the bed and crosses back to to coffee table. Holds her gaze as he lifts the belt out of the basket.

She’s still, kneeling upright on the bed. Her pert breasts heaving as she pants, the plump curve of them and her pebbled-hard nipples like an invitation he can’t resist. Her eyes on him, those shining, wet, _used_ lips like a siren’s signal.

Her breathing deliberately slows as he runs the soft leather through his other hand.

Her lower lip pulls up between her teeth as he folds the belt into a loop.

He cracks the belt against the metal plate on his boot and she startles, eyes widening, her mouth falling slightly open again.

After a long moment’s pause, he strides back to the bed, rushes her, climbs over her and straddles her chest. He pins her down, arms over her head. He pulls her up the bed, on her back, brings her wrists up to one of the metal bars at the head of the bunk, the one level with the mattress. He crosses her wrists and straps them together to the bar with the belt, leaving enough give for him to be able to flip her over if he wants to.

Her wrists secured to the bunk, he bends down just enough to just hover over her mouth, her breaths coming hot and short. “No using your hands now, eh, Kitten?”

That gets him a half-hearted hiss and a near scowl. He crawls backwards over her, letting his hands and lips roam over that perfect body. He lays kisses down her ribcage, nibbles along her toned abdomen, then holds still when he reaches her cunt.

She tenses up, he can feel her muscles tighten under his fingertips.

He lets her hang a second more, then dives into that wet, pink cunt. She tastes delicious, musky and tangy and salty-sweet. She’s hot and puffy and he laps at her, licks around her swollen clit as she writhes on the bed, her moans and whines are music to his ears.

He shows her no mercy and devours her cunt like a man starving. Licks and sucks at her, nips at her delicate flesh with his front teeth - gentle, but firm, the way she likes. He traces the rim of her hole with the tip of his tongue, then stiffens it to dip it into her heat, quickly and repeatedly, never setting an actual rhythm. The teasing works. Her hips buck up, desperately chasing satisfaction.

Keeping his mouth firmly on her sex, he slides his palms up the insides of her thighs. He’d feel guilty about how the callouses on his hands scratched the soft skin there if he didn’t already know how much she likes it. Instead he spreads her legs wide, presses them back so she’s open, completely exposed to him.

The metal of the bunk’s frame rattles and he looks up the bed at her. 

Her eyes are shut, her face slack in anticipation. Her arms are pulled as far down as she can manage with the belt around her wrists, her elbows hovering above her forehead. Her face is pushed into the inside of her own bicep, she’s panting, whining, her lips pouted and her teeth gritted together.

She’s close. She is so close.

For a moment, he considers holding out on her. Considers pulling back, leaving her frustrated and whining on the bed. But then she makes this sound, this high, breathy, almost desperate sound from the back of the throat and his resolve crumbles.

So his closes his eyes and focuses on the sounds coming from above him, the fluttering of her pussy against his mouth. Focuses on keeping up that steady rhythm until she moans, and moans again as she comes.

When she starts to try to push him away with her thigh, he pulls back. Hovers over her and pushes two fingers into her dripping cunt, presses the thumb of his other hand against that fucking plug, “now, which one of these tight little holes do I want to fuck?”

She whines and pushes back, trying to fuck herself on his fingers. As she does, he can feel the added pressure on his knuckles, coming from the plug inside of her, making his decision an easy one.

Sure, she’s obviously done some prep, at least enough to get that plug in. They’ve done that before, a few times, and at Mako’s request, actually. And while absolutely nothing on Earth could wipe the memory of how she’d shaken like a leaf to orgasm around him, underneath him, the one syllable of his name just barely escaping her lungs against his lips, it was still a more delicate process than was drilling hard into her sinfully tight, wet pussy.

Another night, he’d be more than happy to see that through.

Tonight, though.

Tonight he’d watched her crawl around at his feet, on hands and knees, stark naked except for little velvet ears and that fucking bell that just would not stop tinkling.

Tonight she’s on her elbows and knees, her hips up for him, his name in her arse, ready for his cock in her cunt.

The last thing he is capable of being tonight is _delicate_.

Decision made, he pulls his fingers out from her. “Bottoms up, Kitten.”

He stands from the bed, gives her arse another firm smack, which earns him another _‘meow’_. 

It’s been fun being fully clothed while she’s writhing around starkers. But now he ditches his clothes, climbs back onto the bed to kneel behind her raised hips. Runs one hand down her spine to splay across her shoulders, gives his cock a few pumps and lines the head up at her dripping wet hole.

She stills, the moment hanging thick in the air. He takes a deep breath and plunges himself forward into her. She’s tight and wet and like a perfectly oiled fist around his cock.

After all of the night’s activities, there’s no need for him to go slowly, no need to push into her bit by bit. He’s able to sink in to the hilt with no resistance as they both moan loudly.

Stars dance in his vision as he pulls back and plunges in again. And again, and again into her.

When she arches her back he knows that’s his signal to fuck her, and fuck her good.

He grips both hands into that soft flesh where her hips meet her waist, that sweet curve the perfect hand hold to pull her back into his cock, and pounds into her, hard and fast. This is like being back in a jaeger, heady and powerful. Above his own heavy breathing and rough grunts, that goddamned bell keeps fucking ringing.

Holding her in place by the hand at her front, he grips a buttock in his other hand, pulls it aside as he thrusts. Nearly loses his breath. Her perfect holes, that tight, puckered ass full of his name and her slick, pink pussy stretched wide around his cock, the sight is enough to do a man in.

“I know you’re close again, baby.” She is close, he can feel it. That flutter of a clench around his dick, she’s so, so close. He adjusts the hand at her front to get his fingertips on her clit. He can push her over the edge one last time if he can just find that perfect spot on her sensitive nub.

She whimpers, loudly, and he knows he’s got it. He works that spot, keeps a steady pace, even as his vision blurs. He leans down, “one more, pretty girl, come on my cock for me.”

Two, two and a half more heaving breaths and she whines, low and deep from the back of her throat. Her head drops forward and her cunt flutters around him as she comes, her internal muscles too weak from overuse to squeeze down hard.

He fucks her through it and then sets a new rhythm, chasing his own climax.

She turns her head back, fucking meows at him.

And he’s done for.

His balls draw up and he leans forward, curls his body over hers as he flicks his hips forward. Drops his face to her hot skin. He bites the flesh of her back, the muscle there between his teeth, the light sheen of sweat salty on his tongue.

Two more hard thrusts, his vision blacks out, electricity crackles up his spine and he spills into her tight, wet heat. It’s all he can do not to collapse on top of her, instead dropping onto his side. He holds her close to him as he goes, staying seated inside of her for as long as he can as they both come back down to Earth.

His hands barely working, he reaches up to fumble at the buckle of his belt to free her arms. Pulls her even closer when he finally gets her free.

He holds her close and there’s nothing but them; nothing but heavy, rough breathing and pounding heartbeats, hot skin and cooling sweat.

When he’s soft enough that he just slips out of her, they both moan, lamenting the loss. He should let her go, let her get up and use the bathroom. Instead, it’s his birthday and he keeps her close with the arm her has underneath her, and with the other he grips and pulls open her buttock to watch his come drip out of her.

His senses finally coming back and he presses wet, clumsy kisses along her shoulders and up the back of her neck. She meows again and wriggles her hips back against him and he can’t help but laugh. 

He reaches up to the ears she has on and, after making sure there aren’t any pins holding them in place, pulls the headband off, sets it on the nightstand in front of them. “You can talk now, baby. Think you’ve earned it.”

She turns in his arms, runs her hands up his chest as she resettles. “Happy birthday,” she says, breathy and deliciously hoarse.

Nothing clever to say, he kisses her. Soft, directionless, just enjoying the plushness of her lips as it dawns on him that through their entire romp, he hadn’t kissed her once. Hasn’t kissed her since this morning, in fact.

He rolls onto his back, pulling her up along with him so that she’s laying on top of him. Their mixed juices leak from her and smear against his stomach as she gets settled and he just does not care. They’ll shower later, and won’t that be lovely?

“So does this mean I’m dressing up for your birthday?”

“Sure. I think the party store had some kangaroo costumes,” she says, the smile apparent in her voice.

He rolls his eyes, grinning as she laughs, “oh, a kangaroo joke. Really, Mori. And on my birthday.”

He grabs himself two hands full of that perfect ass. Squeezes it, massages it, taps the base of the metal plug she still has in. “Think you should wear this all the time.”

She giggles and squirms on top of him. “Well it’s not special if I wear it all the time.”

“Special occasions, then,” he offers, even though the only _occasions_ he’s thinking of are those damned budget and strategy meetings with the UN, imagining watching her shift in her chair, that plug hidden underneath her sleek professional skirts, her crisp trousers and pressed dresses.

“I could wear it the next time we all go out for drinks,” she teases, then drops her voice lower, “and that short, short skirt.”

He groans, she never plays fair. The ‘skirt’ she’s talking about is little more than a scrap of fabric that barely fits over her hips.

“If I bent over, I bet you’d be able to see it.”

God, if he was twenty years younger, he’d already be rolling her over to fuck her again, regardless of how sensitive they both are. The image of her, in that slip of a skirt, leaning over at the bar the ‘dome staff frequents for Happy Hour; he can see it perfectly, that hole-in-the-wall place with the chipped wood bar and high-top tables, Mako laughing and toasting with everyone. Her purposefully, knowingly arching her ass in his direction, leaning forward just enough, her plump folds and that fucking silver plug just visible in the darkened lighting of the bar as her skirt rides up--

“Now what kind of a girl would that make you, prancing around in a skirt like that? Big bloody plug in your arse?”

“The kind of girl you fuck in the maintenance closet.”

He laughs, because fuck, she’s right. The last time they’d all gone out, she’d worn that skirt, and somehow knew of a maintenance or storage or whatever closet around the corner from the bathrooms. And yeah, he’d fucked her in that closet; after hiking up that skirt and spanking that gorgeous ass bright red, her punishment for _‘being such a bloody slut’_.

Grabbing her ass one last time, he kisses her again before she pulls back and climbs off the bed.

“There’s dessert in the fridge,” she says, her legs wobbling on her way to the kitchen, and again on her way back to the bed, two bottles of water in hand.

Fuck, if he isn’t a little proud of that wobble.

He takes a bottle from her hands, pulls her down again, and glances at the clock on the nightstand. “We’ve got all night, pretty girl.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to all you crazy kids who looked made it to the end! I, personally, can not wait to be handed a print-out of this by St. Peter when I get to the Pearly Gates, before the floor drops out from under me.
> 
>  
> 
> I owe so many of you emails and comments and comment replies and please know that I love you all, life has just been a bit off kilter recently but I WILL get back to you!(I say this like my life isn't EVER off kilter but that's neither here nor there)


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